


Dear John

by lavenderiris



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Letters, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderiris/pseuds/lavenderiris
Summary: Sherlock suffers a moment of sentiment on Christmas Eve and writes John a letter while out destroying Moriarty's Network. Stand alone fic.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Dear John

Dear John,

It's Christmas Eve and I'm watching one of the worlds oldest cities burn to the ground, I'm surrounded by destruction and it's very poetic, considering. There is ash falling from the sky and I don't think I'll ever really get it off. There are people, men, women and children running around, screaming as I inscribe this to you, and I can't help but wish that they would stop it. Why can't they get it through their silly little brains that there is no helping the situation?

Bit not good?

I remember our first Christmas together. You thought it prudent to point out how many times I was texted, and, I'm assuming, out of jealousy, you brought one of many your lays home. Sara? Much like this one, I was gifted with a body, and under most other circumstances, it would have been a true delight.

Before I met you, I could catch a whiff of one of two hundred and forty-three different types of tobacco ash and immediately after identifying it, I'd move on to something more pressing. Before I met you, I would deal with a client (confer, if you so chose to word it delicately, as you are so wont to do) and they would undoubtedly make an attempt at striking me and I would merely move on, from their person and the insufferably poor case they were presenting.

Now, because of you, I had been struck considerably less often. Now, because of you, I pay heed to the little things. I mean the really small ones. The irrelevant now has some semblance of meaning, because of you.

I said to you once that the work was all I cared about. And that's true. What is also true is that you are an integral piece of it, and I can no longer do it without you.

The truth is, you never filled in for the skull. You're not only my conduit, but you're your own source of light and you shine brighter than all those other (as the fat cake eater so correctly entitles them) goldfish.

I'm not altogether concerned about how much sentiment is leaking from this letter. Assuming I survived, I'll most likely walk to the next house over and throw it into the embers in the morning.

Merry Christmas, John Watson.


End file.
